


Would You Light My Candle?

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - RENT Fusion, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Meet-Cute, Song Lyrics, it was when i forgot that my readers only want bellarke, that's a tag i thought i'd never use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 09:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14973704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: murphy meets his neighbor when their landlord shuts off the heat in the building || this is heavily heavily (nay, almost entirely) based off the song of the same name from the musical RENT. i thought of murphy and emori singing this earlier and i literally couldn't get it out of my head.





	Would You Light My Candle?

“You’d better not be staring at the fire and brooding when I get back.”

Murphy looked up from his seat in front of the fireplace at his roommate’s words, then back at the embers on the hearth. “It’s not much of a fire anymore,” he shrugged, and then Bellamy’s words caught up with him, “and I am not brooding."

Bellamy’s responding laugh said that he begged to differ.

“Sure, Murph,” he called from across the room, swiping his keys from the nail they’d wedged into the brick by the door.

Bellamy was a pretty solid roommate, as roommate’s went, but he’d been insufferably chipper lately, ever since he’d started seeing this new girl from the recording studio. And Murphy was sure that she was just fine, but if Bellamy were to be believed, the sun rose and set on Clarke. Beyond absently wondering if her reportedly beautiful voice could warble a siren song to conjure up rent for him and Bellamy, Murphy didn’t give her much thought.

No offense to anyone involved.

He just had enough baggage to keep him from getting invested in anyone’s relational happiness, even if it was his roommate’s.  

With a final admonishment to not let the place burn down, Bellamy swung the door shut after him, and the apartment fell into silence.

It wasn’t a big place, and it wasn’t fancy. Markedly less fancy since their landlord had been slipping eviction notices under their door, letting them know that there was a surcharge since rent payments had been late repeatedly. Of course, said notices were _repeatedly_ greeted with disbelieving censure—Finn knew where they were at financially; what kind of landlord decided to cut off heat _and_ electricity in the middle of a manhattan winter just because they were a week or two late on the payments?—and then _repeatedly_  tossed into the fireplace.

Murphy was ripping the most recent notice into long, thin shreds, when a knock on the door echoed around the apartment.  

It had to be Bellamy; maybe he’d forgotten his gloves or something. Murphy waited for the turn of the key in the lock when Bellamy realized Murphy wasn’t going to open the door for him just because he knocked.

No key.

Tossing the rest of the paper onto the embers, Murphy pushed off the chair, letting out a quick breath when he realized how cold the rest of the apartment was.

“What’d you forget?” he sighed, as he turned the door open, blinking slowly when the hallway was empty at Bellamy-height. If he looked down though…

She was really pretty.

Which was a really dumb thing to think about the fact that it was nearly midnight and there was a random girl standing in the shadows of his apartment hallway.

It was stupid, but it’s what he thought.

She had dark hair and dark eyes, set in a face that was equal parts beautiful and intelligent and Murphy knew he was staring but damn he hadn’t looked into eyes like hers in a while.

Something told him that she knew.

Her chin lifted slightly and her eyebrows rose as she tilted her head.

“Got a light?” she asked, in a voice that fit her just about perfectly.

He realized she was holding a candle, fat and untrimmed, between them, and that that was what she needed lit. When he looked back up at her eyes, they were sparkling with amusement, and something in him whispered that he recognized that look from somewhere.

“I know you,” he blurted, and okay it wasn’t the smoothest, but he was sure that he did know her. “You’re—”

She brushed by him, into his apartment like it was the most natural thing for her to do. He moved automatically, stepping back as she stepped in, her shoulder just barely grazing his chest.

“You’re shivering,” Murphy finished. It hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t place her, and she was coming in anyways. And she really was shivering.

“It’s nothing,” the woman said, in the same light voice. She pivoted in the middle of the living room, not really looking around before her eyes settled on him again, and her shoulder lifted in a delicate shrug. “They turned off my heat.”

Of course Finn did.

Murphy didn’t really think as he followed her into the living room; didn’t register that he’d shrugged out of his jacket until her was settling it over her shoulders. Up close, her eyelashes seemed longer, and he could feel the warm exhale of her breath as his hand passed in front of her face to secure the jacket on her other shoulder.

“Would you light my candle?”

The same soft voice, but up close, there was something different about it. Maybe it was an undercurrent he hadn’t heard before and maybe it hadn’t been there till now, but Murphy’s head snapped up at the sound of it.

Her mouth quirked lightly at the suddenness of his motion, and Murphy stepped back, away.

The candle, right.

Why she was here.

In his living room.

Wearing his jacket.

In the sole patch of moonlight in his apartment, the brightness of it offset by the dark of her hair, but just right with her eyes. She looked radiant, or maybe that was just her skin glowing on its own, luminous.

“What’re you staring at?” she asked, and Murphy realized that yep, he was pretty much just staring slack-jawed at her.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, feeling around in his jean pockets for a box of matches. When he looked back at her, she had an eyebrow raised, and it was something like a challenge. “Your hair in the moonlight.”

Her eyes fluttered, surprised, like that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Almost subconsciously, she pulled his jacket tighter around her, the candle in her hands making the motion less graceful.

Murphy struck a match and stepped back towards her, and when the flame glowed, the moonlight retreated; the moment passed.

“You look familiar,” he said quickly, retreating back to his earlier recognition.

She pursed her lips and didn’t say anything.

The candle caught and a hint of a smile played across her face, now illuminated by the candlelight. But then she drew in a sharp breath and swayed slightly; Murphy’s hands shot out to steady her.

“You okay?” he asked, telling himself he wasn’t anything more than a good samaritan, concerned for the well-being of his neighbor. At his touch, she steadied, her eyes blinking slowly, focusing on him. An almost drowsy smile replaced the grimace as her eyes found his, like she was reorienting herself.

“Can you make it?” Murphy tried again, wondering why this woman was like a magnet, and his hands just wouldn’t drop from her arms.

“Just haven’t eaten much today,” she said, by way of explanation, and when she blinked again, her eyes cleared. She looked around again, stepping past him, almost twirling. “At least the room stopped spinning.”

Something curled in the pit of Murphy’s stomach as he watched her. Light and easy, like a breeze, blowing through his apartment, weightless. And though she had plenty of natural charm, the pit in his stomach grew heavier, because this level of ingenue in an East Village women—coupled with the shaking and vertigo—could only be courtesy of a fair amount of heroin.

Maybe that was his type, Murphy thought. Beautiful women who'd shoot fire into their veins to feel alive, and didn’t notice they were burning until it’s too late.

The memory of his last lover was unsettling, and Murphy shook his head to push her away.

Focused on the present.

On the woman dancing on moonbeams around his living room, her eyes bright in the darkness.

It was like she could feel his gaze; she stopped spinning and recovered gracefully, eyes finding his from across the room. “Anyways,” she said slowly, continuing her path towards the door and realizing he was still watching her. “What?”  

“Nothing,” Murphy said, and he realized it was no more convincing a lie the second time he said it. “Your smile reminded me of—”

The girl huffed out a laugh. “I always _remind people of_ ,” she echoed his phrase with a touch of bitterness, but her expression was curious when she turned back to him again. “Who is she?”

“She died,” Murphy said, because there was nothing else to say. “Her name was April.”

“It’s out again.”

Her candle was out; curious, since it’d survived her spinning, but extinguished right before the door. As Murphy walked over, he could feel her eyes on him.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said quietly, when he was closer.

This was for sure his type.

Because she looked at him like she knew what it was like, and had lost a couple friends of her own, but she was still here, still radiant, still offering him the hesitancy of her smile and the pretty lilt of her voice.

Murphy shook his head, striking up another match.

“Would you light my candle?”

It was the same thing she’d asked earlier, but he’d already lit the match. And he saw it, glimmering in her eyes, that she didn’t mean the candle.

But he lit it anyways.

She was right in front of him then, the warmth from the spark mixing with the warmth of her and Murphy’s mind had been going hazier all night and this was about the breaking point.

“Well,” he began, wondering if she knew how dangerously close she was to being kissed.

“Yeah?” she tilted her head, eyes amused, and yeah, she absolutely knew. But then she hissed, looking down at her hands. “Ow!”

Murphy jumped, then followed her gaze to where the candle had melted, close against her fingers.

“The wax,” he said stupidly, reaching for her hand to brush the hot liquid away. “It’s—”

“Dripping,” she supplied, and when his hand touched hers, her fingers wrapped around his immediately. The expression on her face was nothing short of devious when her eyes met his again. “I like it between my—”

“Fingers!” Murphy burst, and the girl smiled. Like of course that was what she intended to say, but then again maybe she hadn’t, and now they’d never know. He cleared his throat, pulling his hand from hers.

“I figured,” he mumbled. “Well, goodnight.”  

She read his ill-concealed panic but didn’t drop his gaze, just lifted the candle deliberately, and blew out the flame. Then turned on her heel, shrugged out of his jacket and walked to the door, knocking on the frame. Just for the sake of parallels, it seemed.  

“What,” Murphy called, not sure if he should be frustrated, relieved, or confused. Clearly this was a game of some sort, but he had no clue what winning looked like. “It blew out again?”

“No,” she said, and if he didn’t know better, Murphy would say that sounded like genuine aggravation on her voice. There was a frown on her face, and she felt around her jean pockets like she was looking for something. “I think that I dropped my stash.”

So he'd been right about that, at least.

She strode through the apartment, retracing her steps, and Murphy turned in a circle, watching her go. “I know I’ve seen you out and about,” he muttered, then shook his head at himself. “I mean, when I used to go out.”

She’d stopped pacing and was just glaring around the apartment.

“Your candle’s out,” Murphy said helpfully.

She was muttering something to herself about knowing she had it when she came in, and that maybe it was on the floor. At that, she dropped to her hands and knees and Murphy was pretty sure he had a couple different types of whiplash from the last ten minutes, since she’d swept into his apartment.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “They say,” she said casually, turning back away, “that I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?”

“What?” Murphy asked weakly.

“You’re staring again,” she said, without having to turn around to check, and she was right, of course, but Murphy thought maybe he should protest. On principle? Or something?

“No,” he said quickly, because staring felt kind of pervy, but then maybe she thought that his vehement _no_ was about the rumor around 14th street, which he definitely wasn't staring at; he ran a hand over his face. “I mean, you do—have a, uh, a nice—I mean...you look familiar,” he finished desperately.

She crawled around the table, out of his line of sight. There wasn’t standing room on the other side of it, and with the way his night was going, Murphy figured he might as well get on the floor as well.

“Like your dead girlfriend,” was her terse reply, and he probably deserved that.

“Only when you smile,” he said, crawling around the other side, not sure if that made it better or worse. “But I know I’ve seen you somewhere else.”

She rounded the corner in front of him, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Do you go to the Cat Scratch club? That’s where I work; I dance.”

As soon as she said it, it clicked in his mind.

“Yes,” he sighed, relieved, then tilted his head, trying to reconcile the moonlit lazy girl with the neon displays at the club. “They used to tie you up.”

She shook her head, more distracted than offended. “It’s a living.”

Murphy wasn’t sure why, but that made him almost sad. He wasn't one to judge—hell, he was the one burning eviction notices to keep warm—but a woman with eyes like hers, a mind like hers, shouldn’t have to work like she did, just for a living. And  even though she wasn’t offended, he wished her eyes had that spark again, so he took a chance and said the first callous thing he could think of.

“I didn’t recognize you without the handcuffs.”

A laugh escaped her before she realized it had, her hand flying to her mouth almost guiltily. She’d settled back onto her heels, leaning back away from him, but after a moment more of considering him, she shifted.

The damn candle appeared between them again.

“We could light the candle,” she said softly. “To help us look.”

He complied, studying her face as she pushed off the ground, sweeping the apartment again and continuing the search around him.

“Why don’t you forget that stuff?” he asked. Again, far be it from him to judge, but some people just deserved better. “You look like you’re sixteen.”

The look she sent him was telling and he almost took it back before she shrugged. “I’m nineteen.”

And he had to smile at that because nineteen wasn’t that long ago for him, but it sometimes felt like much longer.

“And old for my age,” she added, then her voice took on a dramatic tone as she imitated the song, “I was born to be bad.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah, I once was born to be bad.”

He meant it as a joke, but before she could say anything, a tremor ran over her body, and Murphy bit the inside of his mouth. “I used to shiver like that.”

She looked almost guilty for a moment, then it was gone; her chin lifted in what he could tell was signature stubbornness. “I have no heat; I told you.”

She had plenty, but he knew that wasn't what she meant. 

“I used to sweat,” Murphy continued.

“I got a cold?” she tried, unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” Murphy rolled his eyes. “I used to be a junkie.”

She froze for an instant, then continued on in her search. “Well,” her voice was unapologetic, “now and then I like to feel good.”

He shook his head, looking away. As he did, his eyes landed on a flash of plastic, underneath the table. “Oh here, it—”

“What’s that?” she said, turning quickly, and Murphy knew he should hand it over and just have her leave, but he coughed, tucking the white-filled packet into his back pocket.

“Candy bar wrapper,” he said, not even sounding convincing to his own ears.

But she was already across the room to him, and when he didn't relent and hand it over, she pursed her lips. The candle was between them again, and she was watching the flicker of the flame.

So she saw when he snuffed it out.

She pouted prettily. “What’d you do with my candle?”

“Sorry,” Murphy shrugged easily, “That was my last match.”

“Our eyes will adjust,” she said, her eyes narrowing before she looked out his window. “Thank god for the moon.”

“Maybe it’s not the moon at all,” Murphy flopped down on the couch, not sure if she’d follow, or why he really hoped she would. “I hear Spike Lee’s shooting down the street.”

She smiled at that, settling on the arm on the couch. “Bah humbug,” she said.

And he didn’t know who moved, but his hand was between hers, her long fingers tracing over the veins on the back of his. When she felt his eyes on her, she looked up. “Bah humbug,” she repeated, her fingertips along his lifeline.

“Cold hands,” Murphy said, wondering if that was why he felt like shivering.

“Yours too,” she said thoughtfully, turning his hand over again. “They’re big. Like my father’s. You wanna dance?”

She stood quickly, pulling on the hand she still held between hers, and he had no intention of dancing, but Murphy stood with her.

“With you?” he asked, because with her pulling at him, it was the best he could do.

“No,” she rolled her eyes, “with my father.”

And her voice said she was laughing at him and her eyes said it was the most fun she had in a long time and Murphy stumbled slightly when she stopped short. She was looking up at him, head tilted, waiting.

“I’m John,” he said, knowing it didn’t quite fit what he wanted to say, but needing her to know.

Her mouth turned up again at that.

Then her hands dropped his, tracing up his arm to his chest, trailing lightly over the fabric of his tshirt. She circled around him and he felt a hand at his belt and before he could register just what she was reaching for, a white packet dangled in front of his face.

His eyes focused on hers behind the packet, sparkling again, smile mischievous.  

“They call me Emori,” she whispered.

Then she pressed a feather-light kiss against his cheek, took her unlit candle, and pocketed her stash; the door slid shut before he knew she was gone.


End file.
